


i should not care but i don't know how

by dennisrickmans



Category: EastEnders (TV)
Genre: And thats ok, LMAO, M/M, also how do you write the development of a relationship? dm me with answers pls, annoyance to lovers, if ian beale doesn't approve of a ship thats how u know its valid, is this enemies to lovers?, more like, sometimes a ship can be two characters that we all thirst over
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-03
Updated: 2020-03-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:01:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22994368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dennisrickmans/pseuds/dennisrickmans
Summary: (The next night, Peter drags Tubbs into the nearest alleyway and barely manages to ask, ‘Can I?’ before Tubbs is yanking him down and kissing away any other words that rested on his tongue.)//or peter and tubbs in stages.
Relationships: Peter Beale/Charlie "Tubbs" Savage
Comments: 6
Kudos: 27





	i should not care but i don't know how

**Author's Note:**

  * For [solversonlou](https://archiveofourown.org/users/solversonlou/gifts).



> um yes shannon made one (1) gif and here i am, this isn't a ship is a small rowing boat and thats ok  
> im not sure what this is either but if u wanna share ur thoughts my tumblr is @dennisrickmans pls and thank u  
> hope u enjoy!  
> -nic

It starts like this: Peter heads to café to ask Gran if she thinks that Dad is acting shifty – because he is, Peter might have been gone for a while and Dad could be different now, but guilty is guilty and Peter can read it all over his face, he just doesn’t know _why_ – and as he walks in, he bumps into someone walking out.

“Sorry,” Peter says on reflex, ready to step back and let the stranger pass by.

The guy looks up at him and Peter is struck for a second at how attractive he is – which is, what? Peter has never been one to take stock of how attractive men are, he’s into women, women like Lauren and Lola, all curves not heavy muscle like this man is – but isn’t allowed a second to recover because the stranger winks at him.

“I’m not,” he says before brushing past Peter and disappearing down the street.

His front had pressed against Peter’s for a moment and there had been a second in which Peter wanted to press back but he hadn’t and why does it feel like a missed opportunity?

He shakes himself and heads into the café. No time for a sexuality crisis, Ian is hiding something.

//

Time passes and Peter keeps seeing the stranger around. Lola tells him that his name is Tubbs and, seriously? Peter does suppose that he is big, but it seems like pure muscle, very little fat. Not that Peter spends a lot of time thinking about his body. He’s been busy, Dotty and Bex are helping him find out exactly what happened on the boat and Peter likes to think that Ian isn’t capable of murder but he thought the same of Bobby, once.

It’s a couple of weeks before Peter actually talks to Tubbs again. This time, Tubbs snatches the newspaper out of Peter’s hand while he was reading it, walking back towards Dad’s house. Peter opens his mouth to snap at him, but Tubbs beats him to it, opening the newspaper theatrically in front of his face and asks, “Been asking after me, pretty boy?” His eyes glint mischievously at Peter, the only thing he can see over the paper, dark and bright.

Peter feels himself scowl while there’s a flush spreading on his neck. “We have a mutual friend, don’t make it something it’s not.”

Tubbs drops the newspaper and grins. “Just said that you were asking after me, who said anything about something else?” His smile is filthy, and Peter wants to kiss him. Which is- a lot to deal with at 10am on a Thursday. So he scowls further and holds his hand out for his paper before marching off.

And if Tubbs brushes his fingers against Peter’s for a second, then Peter doesn’t think about it afterwards. Not at all.

//

The third time he meets Tubbs is when things come to a head. Peter is getting drunk at E20, a gay club, yes, but Peter is testing the waters, and Tubbs walks in.

Peter actually doesn’t notice Tubbs coming in despite the fact that the chair he’s sitting in gives him full view of the entrance; his alcohol tolerance has shot so far down since he had Louis, he can feel his 18-year-old self’s disgust at his inability to last past five tequila shots.

Tubbs slides into the seat in front of him. “You following me or something?” Peter slurs, resting his head on his fist, having to look up Tubbs this way. It feels right like this, like the world has always just been slightly off and he’s finally corrected it. Tubbs isn’t someone who should be looked down at, Peter realises.

“You wish,” Tubbs snorts and Peter grins at him, dopily and he hopes its not a trick of the light that makes the way Tubbs grins back him seem fond. “You are fucked,” Tubbs laughs, and gets up and half-picks Peter up underneath his arms and Peter feels himself blink at the strength Tubbs must have. “Let’s get you home, I don’t want Ian Beale on my case, from what Ben’s told me, I imagine I would die of annoyance.”

Tubbs turns to smirk at Peter, his arm around his torso, Peter’s own arm draped over his shoulder, and he smirks as if they are in on an inside joke together and at one point they came outside, Peter can feel the dew of the air soak into his jumper, and Tubbs is taking him back to that house and it’s too much, all of it is and Peter would rather be taken anywhere else so he opens his mouth and speaks and immediately wants to punch himself in the face.

“My dad killed Dennis.”

Tubbs freezes, Peter feels his shoulders tense beneath his arm, his hand tightening on Peter’s waist. He turns to look at Peter and his face is so close, Peter can see that he actually has tiny freckles on his nose and has to restrain the urge to trace them.

“What?” he asks, and his voice is low, his face blank and it feels wrong, Peter is looking down at him again and he isn’t grinning or being a shit and the world is knocked off kilter again and it feels off in a way that its always felt since Lucy died.

“I don’t know why I told you that, you’re just so-so-” Peter stutters and if he was more sound of mind, he would see Tubbs’ eyes flickering around the street to make sure they’re alone.

“What?” Tubbs repeats and Peter wants things to feel the way they did in E20, just for a second, and before he can stop himself, he’s reaching down and kissing Tubbs.

There’s a second in which Tubbs makes a noise of surprise that he feels in his bones before kissing Peter back and he can feel his knees go weak but then Tubbs pulls back and frowns. “You’re drunk, Peter,” he says, holding Peter’s chin back when he tries to kiss him again. “Easy, cowboy. How about you try again when you’re sober, eh?”

Peter blinks, drowsily, and nods, mind slowing to a halt, too many thoughts in his head crashing into each other, he likes to think that his brain wasn’t a car crash once, probably before Lucy died but what use is there thinking about that Peter, he’s in the grave with his twin sister.

He barely notices the rest of the journey home or how Tubbs gets him onto the couch, only feels it when Tubbs’ hands leave him.

//

(The next night, Peter drags Tubbs into the nearest alleyway and barely manages to ask, ‘Can I?’ before Tubbs is yanking him down and kissing away any other words that rested on his tongue.)

//

It becomes a thing that isn’t quite a thing. Peter means to bring it up sometimes – there’s only so many times he can tolerate Ben’s shit-eating looks before he snaps – but Tubbs puts his mouth on his pulse point and his veins feel like electricity and its forgotten.

He manages to ask once, Tubbs stretched out on the hotel bed in a distracting manner as Peter tugs on a shirt. “So, what exactly are we?”

“Jesus Christ, don’t tell me you’re about to propose,” Tubbs says, turning his head to look at Peter, eyes hooded.

Peter throws a sock at him. “Shut up, I was just asking, I’ve never – y’know. Whatever,” he sighs and reaches for his shoes.

Tubbs sighs as well behind him and Peter likes to think that he’s watching him, that he likes what he sees. “It’s just sex, calm down, pretty boy.”

Peter glances back at him and thinks that he’s never seen anyone as gorgeous as Tubbs is, nice to look at in the way that fills Peter between the gaps in his rib cage. “Right,” he says at last. He stands up and grabs his jacket. “Well, later,” and it all feels very anticlimactic, like it always does when he runs off as soon as they’re done, brain running at a hundred miles an hour and he needs to run to the nearest bench and sit with his head in his hands and try to figure out why having sex with Lauren leaves him tired afterwards whereas sex with Tubbs leaves him desperately alive afterwards, like he’s touched an open wire.

Tubbs catches his hand as he passes by towards the door. His thumb presses into Peter’s wrist, feeling the pulse thrumming underneath and when Peter looks at him, he’s focused on their hands and he sees Tubbs’ chest stutter when he wraps his fingers around Tubbs’ wrist in response.

“Stay?” Tubbs asks, and then his expression shutters, closing off that emotion that Peter couldn’t quite read. “We can watch the history channel, or whatever.” Peter tells himself that he doesn’t care that Tubbs knows what he likes to watch on the TV.

He drops his jacket and watches Tubbs grin, hard muscle softening for a second.

//

It continues that way, Peter staying for longer and longer after until he doesn't even think of leaving, just lies half on Charlie while their sweat cools – “You can call me Charlie y’know,” Tubbs says once, before immediately sucking a hickey in Peter’s neck so that he almost forgot but remembered just as he was leaving, just in time to whisper, “Bye, Charlie,” and smack a kiss onto Tubbs’ cheek and feel the heat that blossomed beneath his lips. Peter’s face rests on Charlie’s collarbone, fingers mindlessly tracing shapes on his bicep as he murmurs into his skin, “He lied to my face, Charlie, and I actually believed him.”

Charlie hums and Peter feels it run through him. “Some people are just bad to the bone, baby, nothing you can do about that. My dad was the same way.” He reaches a hand up and runs it through Peter’s hair. He’s doing it to distract him, but Peter lets him, rolls his head up to meet his eyes. “Hello there, pretty boy.”

“Hello,” Peter replies, and kisses him.

//

(This is how it ends: it doesn't.)


End file.
